


His Lordship

by Unsentimentalf



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4290786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> Nick lay awake that night, worrying. What could Mandelson have over Cameron? What was he demanding in exchange? Was this really blackmail at the highest level of government? And if so, what could he do?</i> </p><p>Written in 2010. Part of my 2015 archiving of old fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Lordship

“He’s watching us again.”

“I’m the PM. Everyone is watching us. Get a grip, Nick.”

“Not like this. Take a look. You’ll see what I mean.”

David Cameron didn’t lift his head from the papers that they had been discussing. “We don’t have time for this. He’s probably just looking at your arse. Don’t turn your back on him and you’ll be fine.”

“Touch of homophobia there, Dave? So much for the new brand of Tory.”

Cameron did look up at that. “For God’s sake, Nick. That’s not homophobia. It’s bloody Mandelson. Don’t tell me that the Liberals don’t tell Mandy jokes.”

“We do, as it happens. But they are a bit more sophisticated than “look everybody, Peter takes it up the bum.””

Cameron glanced over to where Lord Mandelson was holding his own little court. Good job all this conversation had been conducted in whispers. “Do you think so? Come on, he’s an expert on shafting people. I’d say he liked to be on top.”

He caught Clegg’s look, winced. “Not PC enough for you, clearly. I’ll shut up, save those Liberal blushes. He’s just trying to decide which one of us to stab first on the way out, anyway. Come on, we’re nearly on. Question 4, it’s mine, but give a good show of enthusiasm for my answer or the press will be all over it.”

Nick nodded. “Tone down the Big Society thing, then. It doesn’t run well with my people, or with anyone else, for that matter.”

Old argument, and pointless, but they had it anyway in mutters. When Clegg lifted his head again Mandelson had moved away.

* * * * * * * * *

Clegg turned back the top paper one last time. It was all here, in the bundle on his Cabinet Office desk. How the Lib Dem central office had got them he didn’t know- didn’t want to know, if he was honest. It would only complicate matters. Matters that right now seemed entirely simple.

The Conservatives were out to screw him over PR. Yes, they’d agreed to run their own campaigns, he’d expected that. But he’d foolishly thought that his allies of convenience would be fighting something like fair. Not this. He looked down at the draft flyers, the proposed speech. Marked quite clearly “Cameron, November ”. The speech that attacked not just PR but the Lib Dems; their motives, their record, their political experience, their leader. That potentially tore the coalition, and his career, apart.

He’d been sitting here for a couple of hours, coffee stone cold. One by one the staff in the next room had gone home, knowing better than to disturb him. If he’d still had a ministerial car, the driver would be downstairs reading the paper, waiting. As it was he’d get someone from the pool to take him home. He ought to go now. It was later than he’d promised the family already.

Nick reread the first few lines of the speech. It was good, he had to admit. It didn’t sound like David’s usual people, though there was something familiar about the style. It was smooth, and witty, and bloody unfair. And at that he was on his feet, sweeping the papers into his empty briefcase. He wasn’t going to let this fester. Cameron could damn well explain it tonight.

The Prime Minister had People. People who intercepted the incomer smoothly, polite. Could they help the Deputy Prime Minister? No, the PM wasn’t available right at this moment. They could schedule an appointment for first thing in the morning. If the Deputy Prime Minister was able to give some indication of the subject to be discussed, it would of course help the PM enormously.

Nick knew perfectly well that Cameron was in his office. He cornered the most senior of the People. Was the PM currently in a meeting or not?

People was slightly uncomfortable with that question, Nick noted, with interest. But People assured him that no, no-one was with the PM. He was regrettably extremely busy tonight, but would no doubt be delighted to see his deputy first thing in the...

Nick sidestepped, moved fast, made it to the door of the inner sanctum before any of the People, several of them half his age, could get in his way. Pushed the door open, no time to knock. Two heads, close together, turned to him in startlement.

Fuck. He’d been perfectly prepared to start shouting, but he was politician enough to know not to wash too much dirty Coalition linen in public, or in front of the Opposition. And one didn’t get more Opposition than the man urbanely standing to greet him, hand outstretched.

“Lord Mandelson.” he said, in mild shock. People had said Dave was alone. People hadn’t warned him...

“Peter, please.” The handshake was slightly firmer than he’d somehow expected, though it seemed to go on for rather a long time.

David was utterly expressionless, watching them. That was bad.

“My apologies. I was informed that you were free. “

“Was the matter urgent?” Nothing of polite circumlocution. Cameron was seriously angry. Nick’s own fury had almost disappeared under embarrassment. He reminded himself what he had come for. It seemed much less critical, right now.

Mandelson. “If I might interject at this point.”

Nick was quite happy to be interrupted. Anything to avoid Cameron’s icy blue eyes.

“Whatever brings the Deputy Prime Minister to the Prime Minister’s office is undoubtedly more important than the matter that we were discussing. I believe our conversation was effectively concluded, in any event. I will bid you both goodnight, and leave you to your important Government business. I do of course recall how pressing that could be.”

Cameron didn’t protest. Another handshake and the man was almost bowing himself out. David saw his guest safely to the care of People, came back into the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. The papers that had been in front of him were consigned to a drawer. Then he turned to Nick.

“I presume that whatever this is about was important enough to justify a scene that rude and embarrassing.”

Nick dismissed that with a shrug. He’d discovered a rather more urgent concern. “What was he doing here?”

Cameron frowned. “Nothing important.”

“Your people told me no-one was in here. Don’t tell me they didn’t know. What was your meeting about, Dave?”

This time it was Cameron clearly on the back foot. He shrugged. “Some stuff about House of Lords reform. Nothing vital.”

Everything else went out of Nick’s mind. “Right. You’ll find my resignation on your desk in the morning. Good evening, Prime Minister.” He turned , miserable as hell, to leave.

“Wait! What do you mean, resignation?”

Clegg turned back. Cold fury had replaced the hot anger of earlier. “You were conducting clandestine meetings with the Opposition about a subject matter that I had been given to understand that I had Ministerial responsibility for. I can’t possibly stay in the Cabinet under those conditions.” The Coalition would come down in tatters, but he didn’t see what else he could do.

‘God, no!” Cameron looked utterly desperate. “Look, it wasn’t anything to do with political reform. That was just the first thing that came into my head. Don’t do this, Nick.”

“So you’re lying to me, and that’s better? What was it about?”

Cameron was wretched. “I can’t tell you. It’s a personal matter. If I could, believe me I would.”

Nick sighed. “I’m not happy, Dave. This, on top of - this.” He opened his briefcase, dumped the papers on the desk.

Cameron spread them out, picked up one or two. “Oh, for Christ’s sake...this is just the back office playing games. I’ve told them not to. I’ll tell them again. I know who wrote this. This is not how we are going to run the campaign, Nick. Of course it isn’t.”

Nick wasn’t much soothed. “This is not how this coalition is meant to work, Dave. I really wish that you were prepared to tell me what Mandelson was doing here.”

“I can’t.”

“Do I at least have your assurance that it was nothing to do with the Coalition, and that these papers do not in any way reflect the PR campaign that your party is planning?”

“Yes.” The PM was standing tall again, looking directly into Clegg’s eyes, sincere clearly switched on full. That was as much as Nick was going to get tonight. He sighed.

“Very well. I’ll see you in the morning.” He left the papers; he didn’t want to see them again.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

One got used to the faces from TV being there in person. Across the narrow floor of the House, almost close enough to touch, and that no longer seemed strange. Maybe that’s why Nick started to note Mandelson’s absence.

On TV, yes, endlessly. And everyone who spoke to Nick- the pundits, the lobbyists, the interviewers- seemed to forever be dropping the man’s name. “Peter said...,” “When I saw Mandelson earlier...” “A senior Labour figure has told us...”

Harman might be acting leader of the Opposition but her speeches rang with pure Mandy phrasing. Dave Miliband was Mandelson’s man, right through. The other candidates tiptoed round him, not daring to offend. To all intends and purposes, Lord Mandelson was running the Opposition show.

All the stranger, therefore, to never encounter the man. He didn’t come into the Commons, of course, and Nick had little business with the Lords. A couple of months had gone by and Clegg hadn’t once seen him in the flesh again. But he felt his influence, and was uncomfortable. Odd, like shadow boxing. It gave the man a mystique that he doubtless didn’t deserve.

The PM was distracted. Something he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, share with his deputy. Politics was a dirty business, but Nick was beginning to suspect something dirtier than usual lay behind this. Peter had no scruples- that was clear. Did he had some sort of hold over Cameron?

Nick mentioned the way that Mandelson was difficult to track to one of the brighter of his parliamentary workers. The next day the woman asked him out for a coffee. In the crowded Starbucks, as private as politicians get, she told him that she could track Mandelson’s movements for him, if he liked. Two days maximum though, and she couldn’t repeat it.

Nick frowned. “Nothing even vaguely illegal.”

“That’s the joy of it” She was delighted with herself, her idea. “All totally upfront.”

Two days later he was staring blankly at his twitter feed. “What am I looking at?”

“Trending topics, on the right.”

#wheresmandy was at number 4. He clicked on it, read a few of the tweets. “This is all junk.”

“No. 99% of it is junk. The remaining 1% is people who’ve actually seen Mandelson today. I knew they wouldn’t resist it. I’ve got someone sifting through. We’ll have a full itinerary for you by tomorrow.”

Nick blinked. “Oh. Good.”

The itinerary was mostly as one might expect. Home, party headquarters, Lords, TV studios. But at 9pm Mandelson was seen by two separate people, on foot, in a King’s Cross back street.

Nick chatted to his pool driver on the way home. A fair drive for the man, but at least a nice part of London. No doubt better than waiting for the PM in King’s Cross in the evening.

The man agreed with him. Could be a couple of hours out there, and you didn’t want to leave the car to get a sandwich, or you’d come back to find the wheel trim gone.

Nick lay awake that night, worrying. What could Mandelson have over Cameron? What was he demanding in exchange? Was this really blackmail at the highest level of government? And if so, what could he do?

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

The King’s Cross house was tiny. Nick had talked his way past security easily enough- he was, after all Cameron’s deputy, and he acted as if he knew where he was going. Downstairs was a kitchen, sitting room, empty. Upstairs would be one bedroom, Nick guessed.

He climbed the stairs very quietly. He could hear noises- a TV, on loud. They clearly weren’t taking any risks on being overheard. Nick strained to hear voices over the sounds of amplified sex, could catch nothing. He reached the top of the stairs, turned on the landing, could see into the room.

Oh God, he was in the wrong house. No TV, but a naked couple on the bed. He tried to avert his eyes, stepped backwards, missed his footing and tumbled backwards down the open wooden staircase.

The fall didn’t knock Nick out, but he was definitely badly shaken up. He lay on the polished wooden flooring, trying to gather his thoughts, wondering which of the pains in his limbs were breaks and which were just bruises.

The sound of bare feet down the steps. “Bloody hell! It’s Nick!”

That was a familiar voice. He focused on the man wearing nothing but a fluffy purple towel around his waist. “Dave?”

“Are you hurt?”

Nick twisted to sit up. He did hurt, certainly, but he thought nothing serious. “I’m OK.”

A second purple towel came into sight. “Let’s get you to the sofa.” Another familiar voice. He allowed Lord Mandelson to take one arm, the Prime Minister the other, and they moved him carefully to the huge black leather sofa. Someone brought him a glass of something; he sipped it, found it to be rather good brandy, drank it down. Then he looked at the two half naked men and wondered what on earth to say.

Dave looked shell-shocked. Peter looked urbane, as always, taking control. “David; some coffee would be a very good idea at this point, don’t you think?”

Cameron nodded, headed off to the kitchen.

“Now.” Mandelson was smiling. His chest was entirely hairless, Nick noticed. Maybe he shaved it. “You have us at something of a disadvantage, Nick. I believe that it is common in these situations to find some mutual ground on which we can agree?”

Nick looked at the man in some bafflement.

“For instance,” Mandelson went on, smoothly, “a gesture of goodwill can often go a long way to putting an awkward situation at ease again. You are expecting, no doubt, to have some problems in implementing your proposals for voting reform. It might be possible to ensure that some of those problems are lessened, if not removed altogether. In this case I can be fairly sure that I am speaking for the Conservative party as well.”

Nick blinked. The man was offering him PR on a plate. He was livid; with Mandelson for offering it, for himself for even considering it for a moment. “I am” he said, words snapping out, sharp, “a Liberal, Lord Mandelson. We do not blackmail people about their private lives. What you do here is not in any way my business. I apologise for intruding; I was concerned that there was a matter of national security at stake. Since it is clear that there is not, I can assure you that the matter is closed.”

“Oh, for...” Cameron was back. Nick could smell the coffee beginning to brew. “Tell me you didn’t just try to bribe Nick Clegg, Peter. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I’ll handle this.” Was that a bite to Mandelson’s voice.

“No.” Cameron was firm. “No. you won’t. This is my coalition, Nick is my deputy and I will talk to him.” He glanced over at Mandelson, who had lost his smile. “You and I will sort this out later.”

“Yes. Yes, we will.” Mandelson’s voice was cold. “If you will both excuse me, I believe I will avail myself of the shower.”

He swept off, as royally as a man wearing only a purple towel could manage. Cameron frowned after him, sighed, turned back to Clegg. “Nick. God, I don’t know what to say.”

Nick had found that exchange discomforting. “Is he bullying you into this, Dave?”

“No! Hell, no. He just likes to be in charge, that’s all. Doesn’t mean anything.” Cameron sounded convincing enough.

“Well,” Nick sighed. “This is none of my business, David. You don’t need to say anything at all. I’m sorry- God, I’m utterly mortified that I came here.”

David readjusted his towel. “Should have known that you’d sniff out our secrets. I don’t mind you knowing, really. No-one else does- no-one else can. It’s too big.”

“People will find out eventually.”

“Major got away with it.”

“Currie and Major were at least on the same side. Do you really trust him, David?”

Cameron shook his head. “Not entirely, no. That’s part of the appeal.”

He disappeared back to the kitchen to pour out the coffee, reappeared with two bright red mugs. “Everyone knows that sooner or later Mandy screws you over, in bed or out of it. I guess I’m just enjoying the ride.”

* * * * * * * * *

“Nick?”

He’d missed the question. Again. David was trying to repress a frown. The others were staring.

“Sorry.” He wasn’t even going to try to bluff this one. “I...will you excuse me for a minute?” The rest of the Cabinet shifted their chairs so that he could get past to the door. He made a rapid break for the gents, sat in a cubicle, trying to gather his thoughts.

This wasn’t working. Wasn’t going to work. He’d tried fighting it and got nowhere. He sat still for a long time thinking. Then he pulled himself together and returned to the Cabinet room.

Cameron’s People could fit him in this afternoon. Good. He couldn’t face his office so he went for a walk round St James Park, listened to the parakeets screeching and the children shouting, his security discreetly behind. He sat on a bench for a while, watched the pelicans. Then he went back to Downing Street for his interview with the PM.

The smell of coffee wasn’t helping any, but he took a cup with a polite thank you. Cameron let him gather his thoughts for a while, before he spoke. “I think I’m going to have to leave the Cabinet, David.”

Silence, then “Why?”

“It’s not politics. It’s...God, it’s embarrassing.” He looked round; not as if he’d spot a bug if there was one. “Is this room clean?”

“It had damn well better be.” Cameron was serious. “I have a leading independent security firm check it weekly, just in case. They’ve found nothing.”

“Oh.” In some ways he’d rather not speak freely. “The friend you introduced me to last month; have you seen him again?”

Cameron nodded. “We’re still close.”

It was just that sort of electric response that Nick couldn’t keep having. “I’m having some psychological trouble.”

“Depression?” Cameron looked genuinely concerned.

“No. Sometimes I get...obsessed with stuff. Have done since I was at school. I try fighting it but the only real cure is to get away, leave it behind. Otherwise it just gets worse.”

“And this stuff is?” David’s voice was quiet.

Nick sighed, looked at the man. “You and...your friend. I know that’s really tasteless and insulting, but it’s in my head and I can’t shake it, so I think I’d better leave.”

Cameron was watching him calmly. “Don’t do anything right now, Nick. Take a few days off, get out to the country. That’s what Chevening is for.”

It wasn’t going to help, but Nick nodded anyway. Cameron deserved that much.

The family came with him for a couple of days, and that was lovely. They did some riding, played tennis, sat in the afternoon sun and drank tea. Then Miriam had to take the children home, and Nick stayed on for a little while by himself. That wasn’t so good. He found himself daydreaming a lot, about the wrong things. He went out for country walks, came back having barely seen what was around him. He ought to have far more self control than this, but he didn’t. It would pass, if he cut himself off from the source. But it wouldn’t be easy.

The evening that he had resolved would be his last, he found someone to play billiards with after dinner. That at least was distraction. So was the servant who drew him aside. He had guests, in the summer house. They had asked for discretion.

His imagination ran riot. He dashed up to his bedroom, changed out of dinner clothes into something more casual. It would be someone else; of course it would be someone else. They wouldn’t come here. Even if it was them, they would just want to lecture him on his utterly inappropriate behaviour. He ran down the stairs anyway.

Nick slowed to a walk to enter the summerhouse. Knocked, called out. “Nick, here.” His voice shook a little more than it ought to. This was fantasy. Real people didn’t behave like this.

“Nick.” Cameron’s voice, cool and definite.

For all that he’d imagined nothing else, it was still a jolt to see David there, and Mandelson beside him.

“Shut the door, Nick.” David was smiling.

He couldn’t do this. He mumbled an apology, turned to go.

“Come in and sit down!” Cameron’s voice was harsh. “I am not going to lose my government over a schoolboy crush, Clegg.”

“You won’t.” He was hovering in the doorway, still desperate to run. “I’ll say I’ve had a breakdown- that’s true enough. It won’t affect the coalition.”

“Damn right it won’t. Because it’s not going to happen. We.” Cameron’s glance turned to the silent man beside him. “have decided to give it a try.”

“A try?” They had to mean something else, surely.

David shook his head. “Get a grip, Nick. Sex. The three of us. Here. Tonight.”

“Oh.” Nick found nothing else to say.

Cameron sighed. “For God’s sake, don’t look so delighted, will you.”

“No. Yes. It’s just- unexpected. “

“So was the damn coalition. We gave that a go.”

“Yes. We did.” Nick managed a tentative smile, still wondering if he’d finally lost his mind and was hallucinating this entire conversation. “Yes. Good. Good. Very good. I’d like that.”

Mandelson was smiling in a vaguely avuncular manner at him. That might have been offputting if Nick hadn’t been lusting so hard after the man for months. He was going to have to talk to Mandy now. About sex; the thought was both unnerving and exciting.

He tried a smile back. “Peter.” he started.

The smile switched straight off. Eyes flashed. Mandelson’s voice was ice, directed at David.

“Your deputy seems to be badly in need of instruction in etiquette, Prime Minister. I do trust that you will be taking due responsibility for this.”

David took a breath, addressed Nick. “The Right Honourable The Lord Mandelson PC should be addressed by his appropriate title. “My Lord” is an acceptable abbreviation.”

What? Nick nearly protested that this was ridiculous (they were all three Right Honourable and Privy Council, for a start), cottoned on just in time. Oh. Not so far from one or two of the things he’d imagined. He wasn’t sure what he thought about that, but if he wasn’t alone at the bottom of the heap, then maybe he could let that frisson of arousal at the thought have its way. And he did so much want to watch David Cameron do exactly what he was told.

“My apologies, my Lord” he said, trying not to sound too ridiculous. Cameron grinned at him.

“Apology accepted.” Mandelson’s eyes ran down him, slowly. “Now let’s see if you public school boys really are all the same under the skin. Or at least in it. Cameron- undress him, please.”

Nick managed not to bolt. Instead he stood quite still, feeling the man’s warm fingers at his cuffs, down his front.

“I don’t,” he said quietly to his Prime Minister “know much about this. I’ve never...”

David leaned forward, cheek against his. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “Just do what he tells you.” The scent of aftershave, something with a hint of peach. His shirt was undone, hands tugging at his sleeves; he turned, compliant, to shed it. Cameron’s hands lingered on his shoulders, blue eyes on his.

“May I?” The question, he realised, wasn’t directed at him.

“Not yet.”

A small sigh, and David’s hands ran gently down his stomach, started unfastening his belt. He closed his eyes, let it happen.

A few minutes later and Nick was grateful that the lighting was low. Cameron was on his knees now, cool fingers stripping the sock off his second foot. Logically, he was no more exposed without socks than with, but still, that sense of naked had just doubled.

Gentle, steady fingers had pulled every scrap of clothing from him, and he was hard as he could imagine, despite the audience. Because of the audience. Mandelson- Lord Mandelson, he reminded himself- had said nothing, just watched, that half smile on his face. Cameron folded the socks neatly together, rocked back on his heels, task done.

“Good.” The tone was approving. “Your turn, Nick.”

His fingers were clumsy around the buttons on David’s shirt. He was leaning forward, trying to reach them without brushing the man’s groin. Cameron made a small noise, shuffled forwards and Nick's erection was compressed. God, that felt good! His hips shifted, starting to find a rhythm, interrupted by a distinct cough from the sofa. Nick caught himself, went back to the buttons.

Smooth chest, he’d half noticed that at the King’s Cross house; he was sure he’d seen pictures of Cameron looking distinctly furry. He pulled the shirt off, hung it over the chair with his own. Hands round David’s waist as he pulled the belt free. Nearly dropped it, glanced at Mandelson, curled it neatly on the chair. Fly buttons over a warm, solid lump; he tugged trousers down first, let the man step out of them, hung them neatly. Then moved- this was good, but so damn slow!- to the underpants, pulled the front forward, eased them carefully over the awkward protuberance and down.

Oh. He fought back unexpected giggles. The man shaved. Everywhere. Fortunately there was nothing adolescent about the PM’s thick cock, even if he was hairless around it. He looked at Cameron’s face; the man looked worried. No need for that. Daring, he slid a hand around the smooth balls, up the shaft, watched David’s expression change.

“Thank you, gentlemen.”

Cameron turned to Mandelson, now on his feet, and Nick let go, followed suit.

“Very alike. I suspected as much of the Liberal Democrats.” Mandelson walked round the two of them, just looking. Nick found his stomach tightening.

“This will have to go.” A delicate finger nearly touched his chest hair. “I’ll send someone round next week to do the job properly, but for now you’ll find what you need in the bathroom, David. I have today’s Guardian to catch up on. I’ll see you both in “ he glanced at an extremely expensive looking watch “twelve minutes.”

Nick nearly choked. “Miriam,” he murmured, “will be startled.”

“I will be visiting your lovely wife, naturally, to clear up any possible misunderstandings, You’re wasting time. Off you go.” Mandelson picked up the paper.

Nick followed the tug on his arm, still spluttering. He sat down on the edge of the large bath, shaking his head.

“What the hell does he mean, visiting?”

Cameron’s tension had gone as soon as he was out of sight of Mandelson. Now he laughed.

“Somewhat unexpectedly, the Prince of Darkness seems to have very strict standards about extra-marital sex. If you don’t keep your wife informed, he will.”

“You didn’t tell me that before we started this!” That put a rather different complexion on things. He imagined that the chances were that Miriam would take a very dim view of this. Especially- he glanced at the safety razor and spare blades set out neatly on the windowsill- if he came back looking as ridiculous as the Prime Minister did.

Cameron shrugged. “It slipped my mind. Too late now, I’m afraid. You should be all right- Peter can charm the hell out of anyone when he puts his mind to it. He’s got Sam eating out of his hand. Not literally, I’m pleased to say; he’s 100% queer.”

He picked up the shaving foam. “We had better get a move on. When he says 12 minutes he means it.”

“I’m not sure I want you anywhere near me with that thing.” Nick raised a weak smile. “This wasn’t in the coalition document.”

“Come on, Nick. You’re getting an easy ride. I got a straight razor, first time.”

Nick winced at the thought. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Not my instructions, sorry. Come on, we’ll start at the top.”

It was strangely relaxing at first. Chest, then stomach, then the few hairs on his back.

“Why not armpits?” Not that he wanted them shaved, but it seemed an odd omission.

“I negotiated that one. Needed to be able to take my shirt off without the entire world knowing. You can get away with a smooth chest, but shave under your arms and it’s pretty damn obvious. Spread your legs a bit.”

Then it stopped being relaxing at all. He closed his eyes, took deep breaths. The oddest sensation; Cameron’s hands on his cock and balls, which was seriously arousing, and the touch of that cold metal scraping his skin, which seriously disturbing.

“Turn round and bend over.”

“I feel,” he complained, head down over the bath, “distinctly vulnerable to sexual predation.”

A finger lingered against the entrance to his arse. “So you should. God, Nick, this is driving me wild. Can’t tell you how often I’m imagined this.”

Nick’s aching cock twitched and he took a breath. “So do it.” he murmured.

“I can’t. Not without permission.” Shaving foam squirted and he felt the scrape again.

“Done. Shower, quick. We’re late.”

Hair and foam swirled together down the drain. What had he done? No time to think about that; Cameron was wrapping him in a thick bathtowel, rubbing him down, newly shaved skin prickling. For a second they were face to face, and without conscious thought Nick leaned forward to kiss his PM.

For a moment the kiss was reciprocated, tongue slipping into his mouth, then Cameron pulled back, cursing.

“Keep to the fucking rules, Clegg. We’re late.” He pulled the towel free, dropped it, stalked out towards the sitting room.

Lord Mandelson was sprawled on the sofa, paper spread out in front of him. He glanced pointedly at his watch once, then smiled.

“Who wrote Hague’s piece for the Guardian, David? It’s not bad.”

“I think he wrote most of it himself.”

“He’s learning. Very slowly. We could both do with a hatchet job on Balls. Would you like me to provide you with something?”

Peter wrote for the Conservatives? A very belated realisation hit Nick. He’d known the style was familiar. “You wrote that PR piece for David! The one attacking us.”

“Ah. Yes.” Mandelson looked not at all put out. “David said you’d got hold of that one. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to persuade him to run it. Unnecessary sentimentality. You’d have had no real answer, not at that stage.” He glanced over to Cameron. “What do you think about the Balls piece?”

“No.” Cameron sounded like the PM again. “You want him destroyed, you do it yourself, Peter. I’ve told you that we’re not playing with the Labour leadership election.”

“Hmm.” Mandelson folded up the paper. “Enough politics, don’t you think, Nick? Don’t you look better now?”

The dynamic in this room changed too fast for Nick to keep up with. He nodded. Mandelson raised a critical eyebrow, waited.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Good.” Mandelson walked up to him, smoothed a hand over his stomach. The touch was electric. Submission was fun. In a way. He let the man run hands over his hips, around to his rear, caught Cameron’s grin and smiled back. Keeping to the rules.

“Thirty women, Deputy Prime Minister? No men? Not even at that public school?”

“No my Lord.”

“We clearly need to provide you with some new experiences here. Or at least new perspectives.”

He returned to the sofa, unzipped his flies, slid trousers and underpants down below his knees. Crooked a finger at Nick, pointed between his legs.

OK. He could do that. Right now that looked damned tempting, which just showed what half an hour’s unsatisfied erection and months of serious lust could do to you.

Nick dropped to his knees, bent forward. Licked straight across the top of the erection. Sweetish taste. Not hard to know what was good here. He’d had plenty of experience, from a different perspective. He curled his fingers round the smooth balls, got to work. Hands buried themselves in his hair, massaged his scalp.

Another pair of hands were around his thighs, tugging them backwards. He let Cameron rearrange him so that he was on hands and knees, his heavy cock hanging free. An oiled finger pushed into his arse and he lost his rhythm for a moment, caught it up again. Another finger, and both were pushing back and forth, which was weird and then good and he found himself pushing back against them, seeking depth. His cock ached, untouched.

Warmth and hardness across his back as David leaned in to murmur in his ear. “All right?” He pulled his head away from Mandelson’s crotch long enough to pant a definite “Yes.”

“Fuck him, Prime Minister. Hard.” Mandelson was panting too, the crudity unexpected from that smooth accent, arousing. But Cameron was gentle, to start with, easing his cock inside, a little at a time. Nick consciously relaxed around it, felt the pressure, the pleasure, pushed backwards, gentle too. Hands in his hair tugged his head further onto the temporarily forgotten task; he moved again, felt David move, felt Mandelson move, felt all of them accelerate, until David’s hands tightened over his hips, cock thrust deeper yet, held still for heartbeats and he heard the whispered “Fuck!” from behind him, seconds later felt his mouth flood as the man’s fingers tugged at his hair.

Then both men were pulling away from him and he was still kneeling on the floor, suddenly bereft, still desperately aroused. Cameron’s arms were round his shoulders, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He knew by now how this game was played; he looked up at Mandelson’s face.

“Please, my Lord.”

Mandelson waved a hand, benign, satisfied. “David.” Cameron pulled Nick backwards until he lay on his back on the plush carpet, settled between his thighs. Nick gasped at the first touch of oiled hand, then of lips.

The Prime Minister gave good head. Very good. Hands raked his thighs, flickered over his balls and he closed his eyes, groaned in pleasure. It was over fast, Cameron licking his softening cock. Nick lay on his back, wondering if he was ever likely to move again.

“I think that this room could do with a little attention. I will be out of the shower shortly.” Mandelson, correct as ever, (but Nick had heard him, earlier, and smiled to himself).

They were alone. Nick struggled to sit upright, looked around. A discarded condom; God, he’d never once thought to ask about that. Bloody careless of him. A vial of oil. Clothes. He needed a shower himself, quite desperately. Would wait his turn. Or maybe share one with the PM. That made him grin.

Cameron was picking stuff up. He looked round at Nick. “All right?”

“Yes.” Nick took a breath. “Very much so.”

“Good.” David grinned. “He likes that, having both of us to order about.”

“Oh yes. I can see that.” Nick frowned. “But this isn’t politics.”

“Of course it’s politics, Clegg. Everything we do is politics. We’re two official and one unofficial party leaders here. That’s not always obvious, but you’ll see it, if you’re wise.”

Nick nodded. He’d watch out for that. He wasn’t giving away anything of his party or his principles to this.

Showered, dressed, Mandelson bid them a polite farewell. “Can I expect an invitation to dinner with your delightful wife, Deputy Prime Minister? I believe that Tuesday evening would be convenient, if it is possible to clear your diary? Of course in Government you will both have far more pressing concerns than a mere Opposition Lord, but I am sure you will do what you can. ”

Nick nodded. He wasn’t at all sure how this would pan out but Mandelson was taking the lead- he’d just follow. Again.

Cameron came back to the main house with him. They sipped whiskey in the drawing room, not talking much. Nick was exhausted, exhilarated. This would do. One thing he needed to know though.

“Got to ask. What’s he like when you don’t do what you’re told.”

Cameron grimaced. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Oh.” Nick frowned over at Cameron with real concern. “He’s not violent, is he?”

David looked back at him, astonished. “Violent? This is Peter Mandelson. Why would he need to be violent?” He drained the whiskey glass, yawned. Time for both of them to get some sleep, Nick thought.

The Prime Minister sighed, clearly contemplating the power behind the Opposition. “Don't cross him, Nick. I warn you. He can be very, very sarcastic.”


End file.
